Chương 5
“I did not lie every day for nine years.”
“You did not need to. You built one lie and let us live in it.”
He walked to the end of the island, then back.
“We can refinance.”
“The bank did not sound confident.”
“You called without me.”
“I called as the person whose house is secured by a loan she did not know existed.”
“We have equity.”
“We have a mortgage, a home equity line, and your father’s note.”
“The property is worth at least one point seven.”
“According to whom?”
“Recent sales.”
“Recent asking prices are not sales.”
“We could get an appraisal.”
“With what income do we refinance?”
“My income.”
“Show me.”
He opened his leather case and removed a folder.
Inside were tax returns, mortgage statements, and a partnership report. Chelsea took them to the breakfast table because the island no longer had enough room.
Logan’s income had fallen each of the previous three years.
The decline was not catastrophic. It was worse than that: steady, explainable, easy to dismiss until the line pointed somewhere undeniable.
His firm, Higgins Bell Advisory, had lost two major clients. A partner had retired. Logan’s distributions had been reduced because of outstanding capital obligations. The business line Albert had been paying was not a personal loan to Logan but a credit facility on which Albert had provided a limited guarantee.
“Why would he guarantee your firm’s debt?” Chelsea asked.
“He knew the founders.”
“You mean they knew he had money.”
“He believed in the business.”
“Does he still?”
Logan sat across from her.
“This is not about the business.”
“It is the second notice.”
“He is using the business to pressure me.”
“To do what?”
Logan rubbed his forehead. For the first time that morning, he looked his age.
“Three weeks ago, Dad and I had an argument.”
“About?”
“A proposal.”
“What proposal?”
“It was preliminary.”
“What proposal?”
Logan stood and returned to the island. He moved the papers without purpose, aligning one and then shifting it again.
“We were considering a new investment platform at the firm. Family-office services. Consolidated management for high-net-worth households.”
Chelsea waited.
“Dad’s assets would have been a useful initial account.”
“Useful to whom?”
“To everyone. Lower fees for him. A stable managed portfolio. Credibility for the platform.”
“Did he agree?”
“He was considering it.”
“That means no.”
“He asked questions.”
“He is an accountant. Questions are his pulse.”
Logan looked at her. “You don’t know what was said.”
“Then tell me.”
“I showed him a draft presentation. His name appeared in a sample model.”
“Without permission.”
“It was internal.”
“Did the model assume his money was coming?”
“It demonstrated scale.”
“How much of his money?”
“Most of the liquid assets.”
Chelsea’s shoulders went still.
“How much?”
“About one point eight million.”
She turned toward the photograph wall in the hallway. One picture showed Albert and Evelyn at their wedding. Another showed Logan at college graduation, Albert’s hand on the back of his neck. In a third, taken six years earlier, Albert sat at this kitchen table carving a turkey while Chelsea held a platter beneath the knife.
“Your father lives in a rented room,” she said.
“He chose to leave.”
“You had a presentation built around taking control of most of his money.”
“Managing it.”
“And then he left.”
“He overreacted.”
Chelsea picked up her phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“Albert.”
Logan moved around the table. “Do not.”
She stepped away from him.
“I am not going to let you frame the conversation.”
“You think he will tell you the truth?”
“I think I have heard your version.”
Albert answered after four rings.
“Chelsea.”
She had expected caution or satisfaction. His voice held neither.
“I need to see you.”
Logan whispered her name sharply.
Albert remained quiet.
“Today,” she said. “Without Logan.”
Logan reached toward the phone but stopped before touching it.
Albert asked, “Do you know where I’m staying?”
“No.”
He gave her the address.
“I can be there in forty minutes.”
“An hour would be better. Mrs. Vale has a student until two.”
Chelsea looked at the kitchen clock. It was one-twelve.
“Two-fifteen,” she said.
“Drive carefully.”
The line disconnected.
Logan stared at her.
“You have no idea what he is doing.”
“No,” Chelsea said. “That seems to be the family tradition.”
Margaret Vale opened the door wearing a navy cardigan dusted with what looked like flour.
“You must be Chelsea.”
The directness unsettled her.
“Yes.”
“Albert said you dress beautifully. I thought he meant fussy, but he was right.”
Chelsea looked down at her white blouse and black trousers.
“I’m not dressed beautifully.”
“You should see what people wear to piano lessons.”
Margaret stepped aside.
A small boy sat on the bench in the front parlor while his father gathered sheet music from the floor. The boy pressed one key as Chelsea passed. The same note she had heard during her phone call with Albert, though she could not have known that.
Albert waited at the top of the stairs.
He wore a cream button-up shirt beneath his dark teal cardigan, gray trousers, and brown leather shoes. His white hair was recently trimmed. He looked clean, rested, and older than he had in the kitchen photographs.
Chelsea had imagined something bleak after hearing rented room. A stained carpet. A sagging bed. A bare bulb.
Instead, Albert’s rooms were modest and orderly. Morning light reached the polished edge of the desk. Financial files stood in careful stacks. A kettle sat on a small tray beside two mugs. The photograph of Evelyn faced the chair.
“You have coffee?” Albert asked.
“No.”
“Tea?”
“No.”
“Margaret made scones.”
“I don’t want a scone.”
He nodded. “That may have been too much information.”
Chelsea closed the door behind her.
Albert did not offer a hug. She was grateful.
She placed copies of the three notices on his desk.
“You gave us thirty days.”
“David recommended thirty.”
“Your attorney.”
“Yes.”
May you like
“You could have called.”
“I did call Logan. Several times before the notices.”
